Macleod of Dare. Black William

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ chief would have spared the life of this man, for the old woman's sake. "Let the tail go with the hide," said she, and he was slain with the rest. And then the narrator went on to the story of the flogging. He told them how Maclean of Lochbuy was out after the deer one day; and his wife, with her child, had come out to see the shooting. They were driving the deer; and at a particular pass a man was stationed so that, should the deer come that way, he should turn them back. The deer came to this pass; the man failed to turn them; and the chief was mad with rage. He gave orders that the man's back should be bared, and that he should be flogged before all the people.

      "Very well," continued Macleod. "It was done. But it is not safe to do anything like that to a Highlander; at least it was not safe to do anything like that to a highlander in those days; for, as I told you, Mrs. Ross, we are all like sheep now. Then they went after the deer again; but at one moment the man that had been flogged seized Maclean's child from the nurse, and ran with it across the mountain-side, till he reached a place overhanging the sea. And he held out the child over the sea; and it was no use that Maclean begged on his knees for forgiveness. Even the passion of loyalty was lost now in the fierceness of his revenge. This was what the man said—that unless Maclean had his back bared there and then before all the people, and flogged as he had been flogged, then the child should be dashed into the sea below. There was nothing to be done but that—no prayers, no offers, no appeals from the mother, were of any use. And so it was that Maclean of Lochbuy was flogged there before his own people, and his enemy above looking on. And then? When it was over, the man called aloud, 'Revenged! revenged!' and sprang into the air with the child along with him; and neither of them was ever seen again after they had sunk into the sea. It is an old story."

      An old story, doubtless, and often told; but its effect on this girl sitting beside him was strange. Her clasped hands trembled; her eyes were glazed and fascinated as if by some spell. Mrs. Ross, noticing this extreme tension of feeling, and fearing it, hastily rose.

      "Come, Gertrude," she said, taking the girl by the hand, "we shall be frightened to death by these stories. Come and sing us a song—a French song, all about tears, and fountains, and bits of ribbon—or we shall be seeing the ghosts of murdered Highlanders coming in here in the daytime."

      Macleod, not knowing what he had done, but conscious that something had occurred, followed then into the drawing-room, and retired to a sofa, while Miss White sat down to the open piano. He hoped he had not offended her. He would not frighten her again with any ghastly stories from the wild northern seas.

      And what was this French song that she was about to sing? The pale, slender fingers were wandering over the keys; and there was a sound—faint and clear and musical—as of the rippling of summer seas. And sometimes the sounds came nearer; and now he fancied he recognized some old familiar strain; and he thought of his cousin Janet somehow, and of summer days down by the blue waters of the Atlantic. A French song? Surely if this air, that seemed to come nearer and nearer, was blown from any earthly land, it had come from the valleys of Lochiel and Ardgour, and from the still shores of Arisaig and Moidart? Oh yes; it was a very pretty French song that she had chosen to please Mrs. Ross with.

      "A wee bird cam' to our ha' door"—

      this was what she sang; and though, to tell the truth, she had not much of a voice, it was exquisitely trained, and she sang with a tenderness and expression such as he, at least, had never heard before—

      "He warbled sweet and clearly;

       An' aye the o'ercome o' his sang

       Was 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie!'

       Oh, when I heard the bonnie bonnie bird

       The tears cam' drappin' rarely;

       I took my bonnet off my head,

       For well I lo'ed Prince Charlie."

      It could not have entered into his imagination to believe that such pathos could exist apart from the actual sorrow of the world. The instrument before her seemed to speak; and the low, joint cry was one of infinite grief, and longing, and love.

      "Quoth I, 'My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,

       Is that a sang ye borrow?

       Are these some words ye've learnt by heart,

       Or a lilt o' dool an' sorrow?

       'Oh, no, no, no,' the wee bird sang;

       'I've flown sin' mornin' early;

       But sic a day o' wind an' rain—

       Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie!'"

      Mrs. Ross glanced archly at him when she discovered what sort of French song it was that Miss White had chosen; but he paid no heed. His only thought was, "If only the mother and Janet could hear this strange singing!"

      When she had ended, Mrs. Ross came over to him and said, "That is a great compliment to you."

      And he answered, simply, "I have never heard any singing like that."

      Then young Mr. Ogilvie—whose existence, by-the-way, he had entirely and most ungratefully forgotten—came up to the piano, and began to talk in a very pleasant and amusing fashion to Miss White. She was turning over the leaves of the book before her, and Macleod grew angry with this idle interference. Why should this lily-fingered jackanapes, whom a man could wind round a reel and throw out of window, disturb the rapt devotion of this beautiful Saint Cecilia?

      She struck a firmer chord; the bystanders withdrew a bit; and of a sudden it seemed to him that all the spirit of all the clans was ringing in the proud fervor of this fragile girl's voice. Whence had she got this fierce Jacobite passion that thrilled him to the very finger-tips?

      "I'll to Lochiel, and Appin, and kneel to them,

       Down by Lord Murray and Roy of Kildarlie:

       Brave Mackintosh, he shall fly to the field with them;

       These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie!"

      Could any man fail to answer? Could any man die otherwise than gladly if he died with such an appeal ringing in his ears? Macleod did not know there was scarcely any more volume in this girl's voice now than when she was singing the plaintive wail that preceded it: it seemed to him that there was the strength of the tread of armies in it, and a challenge that could rouse a nation.

      "Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore,

       Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely!

       Ronald and Donald, drive on wi' the broad claymore

       Over the neck o' the foes o' Prince Charlie!

       Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee,

       King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie!"

      She shut the book, with a light laugh, and left the piano. She came over to where Macleod sat. When he saw that she meant to speak to him, he rose and stood before her.

      "I must ask your pardon," said she, smiling, "for singing two Scotch songs, for I know the pronunciation is very difficult."

      He answered with no idle compliment.

      "If Tearlach ban og, as they used to call him, were alive now," СКАЧАТЬ